


Ninth Circle

by emmageddon_6_6_6



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Additional Tags to Come, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cardinal is Anxious, Eventual Smut, M/M, Rating will change, Slow Burn, Warnings May Change, i wanna play up the satanic rituals to come, imagery heavy, not sure how violent this is gonna get
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmageddon_6_6_6/pseuds/emmageddon_6_6_6
Summary: Copia has always held a certain level of intimidation in the presence of Papa III, but with both Imperator Nihil out of commission and his work grinding to an infuriatingly slow pace, it seems relying on The Third to help maintain order within the church is a necessary evil.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Papa Emeritus III
Kudos: 10





	Ninth Circle

**Author's Note:**

> first fanfic ever, hope its not painful. all comments, good or bad, are greatly appreciated

The cathedral was always freezing this time of year. There was no shortage of enormous rooms and corridors, and when you add ancient, faulty, dubiously hazardous heating to the mix, you’ll find that it’s not much warmer within the walls of the church than outside in the snow. The fact that the church’s defunct electrical work hadn’t caught fire yet astounded its members, as getting the heating looked at sat at the top of Imperator’s to-do list for about five years now. The gargantuan edifice itself was rather ramshackle in its antiquity, despite its outward lavish and ornate beauty, and there was always something broken, be it lighting, running water, or heating in this case. Imperator often pondered over just getting a team of ghouls to fix the issue, but vetoed the idea on account of not trusting them around wiring. Their enthusiasm and magnanimity far out weighed their resourcefulness, if she were to put it politely.

So, the chapel sat, for years, through unbearably biting winters. Countless clergy members complained to Sister over the insufferable temperatures; however, they were always waved off with an “I’ll arrange for it soon” or “I’ll have it addressed once i’ve finished XYZ”.

It never got done, and seemed like it would never get done, so it was up to the members of the clergy to bundle up and weather the cold. 

The only resident within the chapel that seemed unaffected by the piercing frigidness was the Cardinal, who was in possession of a (functional) space heater in his office, to the ire and jealousy of his peers. It kept his work space a comfortable temperature as he slowly but surely severed through countlesshoards of documents, scripture, and paperwork.

It was frivolous, vapid busy work, but the Cardinal preferred it that way. There was a certain comfort in the mindlessness of translating infernal scripture, accounting, paying bills, and otherwise keeping order within the walls of the chapel.

However, the Cardinal’s peace was consistently disturbed in the Winter months on account of clergy members constantly stealing away to his private office in order to escape the chilling air that plagued the house of worship. It wasn’t that he found their presence bothersome, no, he often enjoyed the company of his peers and fellow worshippers. It was the small talk that irked him terribly. how was he expected to finish his heaps of work with an innumerable amount of people funneling in and out of his work space? Cardinal lost count of how many times he’s held flimsy conversations about the weather or what he was doing at any given time with sisters who awkwardly smiled too often and ghouls who feigned curiosity.

He loved the members of the church with a burning passion that could warm the icy walls alone, but he eventually began regarding them as nothing more than parasites when they entered his office, drumming up bland topics to distract from the fact that they were, very unsubtly, only interested in hiding away from the hauntingly frigid corridors of the chapel.

“Dear Unholiness grant me strength” he found himself uttering more and more often when prompted by the rattling and clicking that signaled the promise of another bothersome visit. What proceeded was the shrill creaking of the ancient door as it swung open suspiciously slowly, as if it were opened by guilty hands, then came an overly-friendly “greetings, Cardinal”, the intrusion of an unwelcome guest, and a forced smile on Copia’s part. Sometimes the ghouls and siblings were courteous enough to bring the Cardinal coffee or tea, which he was appreciative of, and then proceed to loiter in his quarters for upwards of an hour,which he was considerably less appreciative of.

It was irritating, maddening, and above all inconvenient, but Copia was a man who disliked confrontation and loathed impoliteness, so he sat, in his padded black leather office chair, and humoured their dry points of conversation, feeling each second of his interaction scrape by with the roughness and discomfort of sandpaper against skin.

In the sparse moments he spent in solitude, Cardinal thought over how he loves engaging in conversation with the followers of the church; as long as it wasn’t here, in his private office, during work hours. Behind his awkward stance and anxious gait, Cardinal cared deeply for the lives of those who dwelled within the chapel.

But dammit, right here? Right now? This was work, and he was distracted far too often to be productive. Nevertheless, he sat and watched as his subordinates whirled in and out of his office, taking advantage of his polite and passive nature. Maddening, he decided, was an understatement. Far too often did Copia find himself staring at the same document for upwards of 30 minutes with little to no progress to show for it.Even after his unwelcome guests left, Cardinal would be worn and aggravated more often than not, still unable to direct 100% of his attention to his duties.

As the late hours rolled by and the bustling hallways of the church grew less and less populated, Copia felt his eyes grow dry, sullen, and heavy. He caught himself nodding off several times at his desk before he finally admitted to himself that he was positively haggard. With a deep sigh of frustration, Cardinal put away his stressfully large stack of unfinished paperwork and accepted his defeat. He acknowledged the fact that completing his workload in his current state of exhaustion was both impossible and inhumane.

Thus, he began the equally inhumane trek through countless corridors, staircases, and cavernous residence halls in order to reach his room for his very much anticipated time of rest. one more flight of stairs Copia chanted internally, his cozy quarters and warm bed so close he could practically feel his thick comforter wrapping around him now. Despite the chapel’s bible-length list of faulty utilities, the dormitories managed to stay fairly well heated. It’s easier to warm a bedroom than a gargantuan nave, Cardinal figures.

However, before reaching his roost, Cardinal caught a glimpse of a a slim, poised silhouette that cut through the moonlight like a razor, the eerie shadow of the composed figure juxtaposing sharply against the pallid, tranquil luminosity. Copia didn’t even register that he now stood stock-still, sharing the same level of motion with a deer caught in the blinding glare of rapidly approaching headlights. He found his attention utterly absorbed by the imposing form that stood proudly before an immense stained glass window, which glittered and shone in the moonlight, shrouding the luxurious interior architecture in pale hues of red and orange.

The window itself depicted the fall of Lucifer, a haunting image of his body plummeting through cloud and earth into the depths of Hell, trailed by cascading blackened feathers. An expression of anger and betrayal etched into the delicate glass, which had Copia marveling on more than one occasion as to how shockingly expressive the art form could be. An image so often interpreted by the Christian masses as a story of betrayal and hubris, but lives on as a tale of liberation and rebirth in the hearts of the devout unholy.

The figure stood as motionless as Cardinal, whom found himself entranced by the regal image of the silhouette contrasting against the beautifully macabre window. Copia let out a silent exhale, only when he watched his breath float and dissipate into the icy air did the Cardinal realize that his apparent bout of hypnosis had caused him to hold his breath. Then did Copia also remember how absolutely freezing the corridor around him was. He scampered up the flight of stairs as quickly and quietly as humanly possible. Just around this last corner were his personal quarters; just a few meters more he spoke internally. Just then did he hear a voice ring out into the dark, frozen hallway.

“Goodnight, Cardinal.”

The man’s voice was smooth, rich, carrying a deep timbre that poured out into the air like smooth, fine wine and echoed through every inch of the cavernous church. Cardinal jumped, as if he had just come in contact with a live wire. He felt his heart stutter as he inwardly scrambled to return the pleasantry.

“Er…Like-Likewise, Papa”He kicked himself mentally. Leave it to Copia to fuck up a simple “goodnight” he berated internally. He chanced a glance back to Papa III, who had turned his head slightly, peering at Cardinal through the thick darkness out the corner of his eye, a semblance of a grin gracing his painted lips, illuminated by the stained moonlight.

Copia lingered for a moment longer than he would’ve liked, before giving a slight wave and turning the final corner and scampering towards the security of his chamber. The heavy walnut door gave a thud that reverberated around the gothic, ornate room as Copia let out a deep sigh of relief. As exasperated as the Cardinal felt concerning his lost battle with a damn stack of water bills, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of consolation at the sight of the rich sheets that beckoned for his to give in to his helpless state of fatigue. After brushing his teeth and removing his paint, Copia made quick work of his cassock, folding it neatly and placing it beside his discarded biretta. He gave a shallow sigh and he sunk into the slight chill of his bedsheet, letting the euphoria of rest soothe every one of his countless stressors; a balm comprised of goose down pillows and silken, burgundy sheets. The haze of slumber drifted deeper and deeper into Copia like a rolling fog as he let himself settle into the relief of sleep.

Just as he was drifting off, Cardinal’s eyes shot open as a memory surged into his mind: the awkward and stilted interaction he had with Papa III. He suddenly felt more awake than he had the entire day as mortification seeped into every last bone in his exhausted body. He dug the palms of his hands into his eyes and groaned, the promise of a long night of overthinking whispering silently into his mind.


End file.
